


until we are thorns

by bitterheart



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26751937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterheart/pseuds/bitterheart
Summary: "You'll have to be careful," Dorothea says while showing her how to care for the roses. "They're beautiful from a distance but their thorns don't discriminate. They'll spill noble blood just as easily as a commoner's."Edelgard nods. "As they should."Edelgard, Dorothea, and a matter of faith.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 5
Kudos: 50





	until we are thorns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thimble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/gifts).



> Thank you to [meg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strikinglight) and [eth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereally/pseuds/Ethereally) for the hand-holding.

It is on an overcast afternoon, the clouds dark and heavy as Edelgard's heart, that she steps into the rose garden for the first time in months. She stands there for a moment, as alone as Hubert has ever allowed her to be, surrounded by the cloying sweetness that hangs in the air. She breathes it in and exhales slowly, pushing her shoulders back, lifting her gaze to the skies.

 _I dare you to stop me_ , she thinks. To the sky promising rain. To the Goddess herself. 

The roses are quick to catch fire. Unsurprising, when no one has tended to them in far too long. Edelgard finds the warm, lapping flames more comforting than the sweetness of the flowers anyway. 

Hubert says nothing when Edelgard returns to the path where he waits, her heels clicking hollow against the cobblestone. She appreciates him for it; he always knows what to say and so many times, he understands the best thing to say is nothing at all. 

They walk, to where their army waits, without a look backwards.

Dorothea had always loved that garden.  
  
  


* * *

Dorothea's first sleepless night comes after the capture of the Great Bridge of Myrddin.

Edelgard wakes to the sound of Dorothea's breath stuttering out of her. She sits up, turning to find Dorothea lying beside her, eyes wide and wet, her lips parted around a breath she just can't quite take. 

Dorothea looks even worse than she did on the march back to the monastery. Her face is ashen and her eyes meet Edelgard's, full of fear and confusion. 

"I'm here," Edelgard tells her, shifting closer until their sides are pressed together. She strokes her hand up and down Dorothea's arm and counting slowly, from one to ten and then back again. "I'm right here." 

These are familiar burdens. Edelgard has had most of her life to adjust to the weight of them and now, they sit on her shoulders just as her crown sits on her head. It's a weight that she cannot ignore. One that she has no choice but to bear. None of this helps her to put Dorothea at ease. 

Finally, Dorothea comes out of it with a soft sob. She turns onto her side, pressing into Edelgard. Her cheek is wet against Edelgard's shoulder. Edelgard strokes her hair, keeping the same slow, steady rhythm as her counting. They lay there together until Dorothea stops trembling, until the sky outside their window grows lighter with the coming day. 

"Edie." Dorothea's voice trembles, even though her hands are steady, holding Edelgard close. "I'm—"

With a kiss to Dorothea's forehead, Edelgard hushes her. "You have me by your side. I'm not going anywhere."  
  
  


* * *

The first time they kiss, they're surrounded by roses.

The winter has faded into a mild spring that has the sun shining over their heads and a breeze that keeps them from overheating. The rose garden that Dorothea adores is thriving in these conditions and under her care. Edelgard finds her there, pruning the roses and looking perfectly at home among them. 

"Can I help?" Edelgard asks, thrilled at the way Dorothea's expression lights up at the offer. 

"You'll have to be careful," Dorothea says while showing her how to care for the roses. "They're beautiful from a distance but their thorns don't discriminate. They'll spill noble blood just as easily as a commoner's. 

Edelgard nods. "As they should."

It earns her a laugh from Dorothea: a musical thing that hangs in the air just as the sweet scent of the roses around them. It makes Edelgard's heart sing in reply. 

"That's why I adore you, Edie."

Edelgard is so caught up trying to figure out what, exactly, Dorothea adores about her, and how to make her laugh like that again, that she doesn't notice the thorn of the rose she's pruning until it pricks her. She snatches her hand back with a soft gasp, then feels ashamed for it. She's dealt with worse, after all. She's survived to this point, only to let a rose's thorn bother her. 

When she turns to Dorothea, she isn't expecting the fond smile. 

"What?" Edelgard asks, feeling even more self-conscious now. 

"It's just that most of the time, you're always trying so hard not to show any pain." Dorothea takes Edelgard's hand into her own. "I like the thought of you letting your guard down a little with me."

"I suppose I do." Edelgard smiles. "You make it easy."

"You're bleeding," Dorothea says, her gaze dropping to the bead of blood at the tip of Edelgard's finger. It's such a minor thing that Edelgard doesn't even think to do anything about it. Not until Dorothea lifts Edelgard's wrist and sucks the blood off her finger. 

This time, the gasp Edelgard lets out is a little breathless. Her gaze is fixed on Dorothea's lips, still around the tip of her finger, curving into a smile. 

When Dorothea pulls away, Edelgard reaches for her. Their lips are warm against each other and Dorothea is smiling again, Edelgard can feel it against her own mouth. 

For the rest of the afternoon, she commits herself to memorising that feeling.  
  
  


* * *

Dorothea doesn't enjoy the war.

It's reasonable, Edelgard thinks. She doesn't like the war either. It's brutal but it's just as necessary. Change isn't born out of peace, no matter how much anyone might wish for it to be. A change of the magnitude that Edelgard hopes to bring about can only be brought about by tearing the very fabric of their current world apart and piecing it back together into something better. Something kinder. If she needs to be cruel to achieve it, she has long since accepted this path as hers to walk. 

That's the thing about fighting for the future. It's rarely for the people in the present. 

Still, on the more difficult days, Dorothea will sit beside Edelgard, lean into her side and sigh. "Tell me about our future."

So Edelgard does. She paints a picture that she has painted so many times onto the backs of her eyelids that it flows out of her without having to pause. Stations aren't determined by blood or rank but by skill. People are allowed to do what they are passionate about, not what is expected of them. 

"And us?" Dorothea asks. 

Edelgard smiles, her arm around Dorothea's waist, holding her as she is being held. "What would you like? A throne? A crown?"

Dorothea wrinkles her nose and laughs. "You. That's all." 

"Well." Edelgard kisses her, once, twice, thrice. "You have me."  
  
  


* * *

When they return from battle, Dorothea is wearing someone else's blood.

She walks between the soldiers, checking on them and passing around vulneraries as if she's doing it all mechanically. Edelgard sees the haunted look in her eyes and once she's noticed it, she can't help the way her gaze keeps wandering back to Dorothea even as she speaks to Hubert. 

"Lady Edelgard," Hubert says, gently interrupting her attempt to pull her thoughts together into a sentence. He doesn't look in Dorothea's direction but his posture makes it clear that he's noticed Edelgard's distraction and the source of it. "I think that perhaps this conversation can wait five minutes." 

She nods gratefully, crossing the war tent to take Dorothea's hands into her own, leading her to sit down. There's a bucket with some water nearby and a cloth draped over the rim of it. Edelgard picks it up and sets about cleaning the blood from Dorothea's skin in gentle strokes. Dorothea lets her, silent and lost in thought. Her eyes are unfocused and Edelgard would be concerned that she's hurt if not for the way Dorothea responds to her ministrations, lifting one arm and then the other without needing a prompt. 

They fall into a silence as Edelgard works, the only sound between them being the splash of water and the rasp of cloth against skin. 

"Edie." Dorothea blinks, finally looking at Edelgard properly. "Do you know whose blood that was?"

It's a question that Edelgard isn't sure how to answer correctly. She doesn't know whose it is. She doesn't know if she should.

Dorothea shrugs her shoulders, as if the answer doesn't matter. "Neither do I. She wasn't a knight. She wasn't a noble. She was just a commoner. So many of the bodies out there, Edie. All of them commoners. They could be anyone. They could have been me."

Edelgard resists the urge to hold onto Dorothea. "It wasn't you. It will never be you."

It isn't the right thing to say. Edelgard only realises that when Dorothea presses her lips into a thin line and shakes her head, as if to herself. "It could have been."  
  
  


* * *

These nights, Dorothea wakes more nights than she sleeps through.

At first, it was always the same. The gasps, the wide eyes, the breaths that wouldn't even out until she was in Edelgard's arms. 

It's unclear when that changes. When Edelgard touches her, Dorothea turns away. Slowly, she goes from Edelgard's arms to curling into a ball, facing the other direction. She doesn't stay in bed. She sobs until dawn. 

If Edelgard didn't know how to help her before, she has nothing now.

It's worse when Dorothea shies away from her touch in waking hours as well. It's more noticeable, when Dorothea has always been so affectionate and has never been shy about showing it. Edelgard finds herself anticipating a touch for none to come. She reaches to her side, fingers tangling with air as she realises Dorothea is walking with her arms crossed. 

When she leans halfway for a kiss in the privacy of their room, Dorothea presses their lips together. When Edelgard leads her to the bed, Dorothea presses her into it. When Edelgard lets her legs fall open, Dorothea settles between them and takes her apart which each stroke of her tongue between Edelgard's folds.

When they're done, Dorothea collapses into bed with Edelgard, covered in sweat and smiling into their kisses but once morning comes, she's curled up at the far edge of the bed. 

Edelgard lies awake, stretching her arm across the distance between them, and supposes that this is just another sacrifice that needs to be made.  
  
  


* * *

It's a shaky Heal that helps Dorothea find her resolve, after a difficult battle.

Edelgard only hears of it later. _After_. Once Dorothea has left the monastery to never return. After a regretful look and, _sorry, Edie, I can't_. 

It goes like this: there are more soldiers injured than Edelgard and Hubert were prepared for. Too many wounds, too few vulneraries and fewer healers. 

Dorothea has never been particularly adept at white magic but Edelgard supposes that if she were the kind of woman to give up on something just because it was difficult, she wouldn't have made it to this point. 

It's at this point in the story that Linhardt breaks off and hums in thought.

"She was terrible," he says at length. "Worse than usual. So I said…"

"What did you say to her?"

He shrugs, as if it doesn't matter to him. "Something about magic. You can't do faith magic when you don't have anything to put your faith into. Her Heal was wavering because she was too. It's not all that complicated." 

"No," Edelgard hums. "I suppose not."  
  
  


* * *

Through the rain of Tailtean Plains, the bright flashes of Thoron catch Edelgard's eye just before she sees its source.

Dorothea doesn't flinch when their eyes meet. She flexes her hands, charging up her next spell.

Some hours' march behind Edelgard, the rose garden at Garreg Mach has been reduced to thorns, and those thorns to ash. Ahead of her, everything that she must still do. Every sacrifice she must make to get there.

Dorothea's next Thoron crashes even louder through a line of Imperial soldiers, her lips pressed together into a thin line. She knows what this battle will mean. For her. For Edelgard. 

Edelgard steels herself, and leads the next charge.

She'd always loved roses with their thorns. This one, most of all.


End file.
